


The Gates Wide Open

by ClementineStarling



Category: The Witch (2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:27:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineStarling/pseuds/ClementineStarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extended version of the 'pact-scene' to make at least some sense of the ending.<br/>And also because Wahab Chaudhry is gorgeous!<a href="http://desimalemodels.tumblr.com/post/120482375653">*</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gates Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stuck with what I actually want to write, so I did this little side project as part of my ongoing series of writing lonely (= first) fics for obscure fandoms. 
> 
> I don't know why this film got so much praise.* Sure, creepy witch and almost equally creepy christians, but I had serious problems connecting the whole supernatural story to the rest, like - I was honestly asking myself 'what's the point of it all' apart from nice pictures and historic setting and general screepiness. Especially the ending felt totally out of character for Thomasin. Although it's of course kind of nice that the story sticks with history, meaning in this case delivering on a lot of the stereotypes described in the good old Malleus maleficarum. It's a bit disappointing that no well was poisoned but alas, you can't have everything as they say. 
> 
> Hope I got all the thous and thees and thys and dost and wilt right. Corrections are welcome! :P
> 
> Last but not least: I guess this is sorta dub-connish, so... well, you've been warned.
> 
> __  
> *I may have been a bit harsh with my first judgement. Okay, the film isn't perfect, but it's still pretty good, right? ;)

_

His voice was the murmur of dreams and the whisper of the wind in the leaves, a soft caress in the air that made Thomasin's skin crawl and her heart beat faster. She stood still as Lot's wife looking back upon the cities of the plain, petrified by God's wrath. _So this is the thrall of the Devil_ , she thought, listening to the promises dripping like venom from his lips. They were sweet as honey. She could almost taste the butter on her tongue, feel the fine linen wrapped around her freezing limbs. The scent of freedom hung in the room, spicy and adventurous. She remembered the sound of sails billowing in the breeze, the smell of the ocean in her nose.

“What wilt thou from me?” she asked, forcing herself to stay calm. She knew very well what he wanted. And she would never have dreamed to give it away. Anything but this, she would have sworn on her life and the lives of everyone dear to her. Only now they were dead, all of them, her mother slain by her own hand, and her life was worth nothing anymore. Nor was her soul. There was no use fighting this. It had been his doing, and she already belonged to him. 

“Dost thou see a book before thee?” 

There was a chinking of small bells in the night, the quiet fall of foot steps. She did not avert her eyes from the book but she could feel his presence. He was not a billy goat anymore. He was a man dressed in black, booted and spurred, wearing a hat with a red cock's feather, just like in the tales. A chill run down her spine as he stepped behind her.

“Remove thy shift,” he purred and she obeyed and raised her hands to push the gown off her shoulders. The fabric slid off her and fell to the ground. _This is my chastity_ , Thomasin thought, _last of my virtues._ He could see her now as no man had seen before, as no man ever should. Not even a husband ought behold his wife like this, it was sinful. And yet there was something oddly exciting about her nudity and about the way she felt his gaze even through the spill of her hair, as if he were touching her with his eyes. Her mouth was dry with anticipation. But when he put his hand onto her shoulder, it was much more intense than she had thought. Although he wore gloves, his touch burned as if hellfire was already licking at her flesh.

“I cannot write my name,” she confessed. Perhaps some foolish part of her had still hoped this shortcoming would save her after all, but it did not; she could sense the amusement of his smile when he said: “I shall guide thy hand.” 

His left hand stroked her shoulder, run over the length of her arm towards her wrist, the skin tingling in its wake, and Thomasin felt dizzy. It was like a dream. She only came back to her senses when he snipped his fingers, suddenly holding a quill. She stretched out her right hand to take it, then paused.

“I didn't bring a knife,” she said. “I must sign in blood and...”

“Hush,” he said and stepped closer. So close the buckles and straps of his clothing came in contact with her back. Although it felt strange, Thomasin had to suppress an irrational urge to lean back against him. She should be beside herself with fear, not longing for his vile affections, and yet-  
And yet she could not help herself. It did not feel wrong when he reached around her and took her hands in his. “The quill is sharp enough to prick the skin,” he whispered into her ear. 

The sharp sting was delicious as the quill pierced the tip of her left forefinger. Blood welled up, red and hot, more than she needed to sign her name on the yellowed parchment. As he had promised he guided her hand and it looked so pretty, with all the swirls and flourishes. For a moment everything else was forgotten, as Thomasin reached out to trace the drying letters.

“I want to learn to write,” she breathed. 

“And thou shalt,” he answered, and Thomasin wondered whether she imagined a fond smile in his voice. He allowed her to admire their handiwork for another moment, before he turned her gently around. 

She had not laid eyes on him since he had taken human form and he was beautiful. The most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had taken off his hat and his hair fell over his shoulders in soft waves. It shone like the plumage of a raven, caught the light like water in starlight.

“Phillip,” she whispered without thinking.

“If thou likest, thou mayst call me that.” His lips curled into a smile that was – Thomasin could not find other words for it than – _benign_ and _tender_. There was nothing harsh or evil about him. His eyes were warm as dark polished wood and his skin was golden as sunlight. His nose was aquiline, his brow noble, the beard neatly trimmed. This was not what she would have imagined the devil to look like, more like she had envisioned their Lord and Saviour. Though perhaps that was what he was? Her saviour.

But then how could he have done what he did? 

She did not have to ask it aloud. He only looked at her and sighed. He tucked a stray strand of hair from her face and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, over the seam of her mouth. It was so unexpectedly gentle a movement, Thomasin felt a treacherous warmth spread inside her and the sin pool hot and wicked in her belly.

“I meant thee no harm, child,” he said in that low, mesmerising tone which was as rough as a cat's tongue. “All I did was look out for my own.”

“But my father,” Thomasin said. Below the enchantment, below her unlawful lust, the pain was still simmering. Once she paid attention she could feel it again, raw and blood-thirsty and sharp-teethed it was gaping inside her, hungry for revenge.

“He would have killed thee,” Phillip said, “Or have others killed thee for him.” He sounded tired. An age-old weariness that betrayed his youthful appearance. His hand had left Thomasin's face and come to rest against her throat. There was only a hint of pressure in his fingers, but she understood the gesture at once and lowered her gaze.

“Thou must understand, I am a loving lord, I protect those who are loyal to me. I reward the faithful. I reward the fearless even more. And thou art fearless, art thou not?” 

Thomasin's eyes flicked upwards, then she raised her chin defiantly. She thought of Sam and Caleb and Mercy and Jonas. She thought of Mother and Father, the dark forest and the fires of hell, and there was nothing like fear inside her. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I am.” _Pride is a sin_ , she reminded herself, _as is lust, as is wrath._ Although she did not feel fear anymore, she was not numb, on the contrary, she was filled to the brim with emotion, all those sentiments she had been taught to fend off. Because they were sins, deadly sins even, insults to their Lord. Now they came bubbling to the surface as if they had been slumbering inside her all along, just waiting to be woken. Darkness was unfurling in her veins like mulled wine. She was drunk on this first sip of freedom.

Phillip's left hand found her breast, cupping it in his palm. His touch was firm and smooth, without the calluses of a working man, and her nipples tightened under the unfamiliar caress. He was looming over her, so impossibly tall, a dark prince indeed. “I shall teach thee about liberty,” he whispered before he caught her lips in a first kiss. She gasped into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensation. He tasted like fruit and gingerbread, a sharp sweetness that made her crave more of these kisses. 

“I shall teach thee about pleasure,” he said when his fingers delved between her thighs and found her wet with anticipation. She clung to him, mindless, gasping, while he rubbed the pads of his fingers against her slick, tender flesh. 

“And then, finally, I shall teach thee about revenge,” he promised as he finally sank into her, sealing their pact. Thomasin was alight with the ecstasy of carnal relations, the strange and delicious feeling of being touched and stretched and filled, but beneath that passion another sentiment burned even brighter, a hunger for blood and vengeance. She swore she would find the witch who was to blame for her siblings deaths. And when she did she would tear her apart with her own hands, piece by bloody piece. 

She dug her nails deeper into the demon's back and wrapped her legs around him to pull him closer.  
There was nothing she wouldn't do for vengeance.

_


End file.
